


How He Sees The World

by MidnightCity



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 04:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7875463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightCity/pseuds/MidnightCity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Jeremy would come back home, shoulders taunt, face set in a grim mask, quietly muttering angry words under his breath. Then he'd sit down with a glass of Rosé, his colouring book, and new pens. After roughly an hour James would feel a hand on his shoulder, and a moment later he'd flop down next to James, ready for cuddling and conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How He Sees The World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mylady_lilith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylady_lilith/gifts).



> for A.: who has beaten almost all the _howevers_ and unnecessary _justs_ out of me. ♥

James liked that no matter if abroad, on holiday, working, in James' house, Jeremy's flat or the house they owned together, every night Jeremy would work on the colouring book.

Finlo had gifted it to Jeremy on his last birthday. They weren't sure whether it had been a joke or a serious gift. It didn't matter because in that hour - in which Jeremy drew lines with smooth strokes, and even experimented with other techniques, colours and shadows - James could see the stress lifting from his shoulders.

Sometimes Jeremy would come back home, shoulders taunt, face set in a grim mask, quietly muttering angry words under his breath. Then he'd sit down with a glass of Rosé, his book, and new pens. After roughly an hour James would feel a hand on his shoulder, and a moment later he'd flop down next to James, ready for cuddling and conversation.

Then James would remove the last remains of stress by holding him tightly, running his hand through his hair and along his back. Sometimes James would massage his shoulders until Jeremy would fall asleep on top of him.

If that was the result of a simple 7,99 £ colouring book, James didn't mind. He liked it, even loved it. Everything that helped Jeremy wind down was good.

Even though Jeremy spent so much time drawing into it, James had never seen a single painting. He had only managed a brief glimpse on one occasion:

James had remembered that there had been stew from yesterday in the fridge and had asked Jeremy if he wanted it. An absent grumble had been the reply, and James had decided that it had meant _yes_.

When he had placed the bowl next to Jeremy, he had managed to look inside the colouring book. Not much had been filled yet, only a leaf. The colours and shadows had almost been perfect. James knew that Jeremy had a good eye for photography, and that he had always had an artistic side. It shouldn't have been a big leap that he'd be good with this too.

But as quickly as the chance had appeared as quickly had it disappeared again, because Jeremy had strategically placed his hand over the leaf. It hadn't been an accident, and James hadn't commented on what he had seen, realizing that Jeremy didn't want him to know.

James wasn't sure if he minded. He was curious, of course. And yet … James wished that he would be part of this; that Jeremy would let him in, show him the progress, actually vocalize the frustrated grunts (Was it the wrong colour? Did the pen break?). After all, Jeremy had included him in almost all other aspects of his life; private, romantic, work, family, most of his hobbies.

Then again, there were small niches in which James had no right to be in. Jeremy's past was right on top of this list, he kept most of it to himself. James had never pushed for information.  
There was a diary which Jeremy kept in the bedside table. James did not feel like he was allowed to snoop around in it. He didn't even have to be told. Or the little notes Jeremy left lying around. It had taken a while, until James had realized that the doodle-like mess was Jeremy's shorthand. James couldn't read or write shorthand, least of all teeline. He had only been able to make out the word _obviously_.

James was smart enough to know that he had no business snooping around in the colouring book. After all, he also knew Jeremy's e-mail password, that didn't mean that he read his mails. The same way the colouring book would often be left behind in James' house, he would also not take a single look inside, unless Jeremy explicitly allowed him to – which hadn't happened yet.

Maybe the colouring book was like his diary. He used it to wind down after all. He could have hidden a part of him in there he wouldn't even be aware of.

Still, James often thought about the pictures. Would they be colourful? Realistic? Would he draw how he felt, dark colours when upset, and bright ones after a good day? Did Jeremy sign his pictures and date them? Maybe he would use two colours that do not fit together just for the sake of art? Would all landscapes be by night, or by day? Did he eliminate a problem, or did he work with it until it seemed to be part of the wanted construction?

James didn't know, maybe he would never know. Maybe he should ask. But then Jeremy would wave him off and tell him “It's only a silly pastime.“

Not something James should spend so much time thinking about. Jeremy didn't, of course he didn't. He only sat down for an hour a day and drew.

Until one day when Jeremy came home, kissed James on the lips, muttered a “hello“, and went into the kitchen. When he came back into the living room he handed a cup of tea to James before sitting down with his own, and asked, “Anything interesting on the telly?“

“Documentary about the Spitfire,“ James replied, while turning the volume down. “Aren't you going to draw?“

Jeremy shrugged his shoulders, pulled a face and answered, “Meh, no, I'm finished, the book is full.“ Just like that, as if he had been asked if he wanted to rewatch a film he wasn't too enthusiastic about.

_So that was it?_ Jeremy had coloured all the pages, and … Yes, that was it. What had James expected? Jeremy hadn't worked his soul into this. It had only been a “silly little hobby“ to him. Nothing more.

“Are you going to get another?“ James asked carefully. Even if it had only been a silly way to pass the time, it had helped Jeremy relax.

“I don't know yet,“ Jeremy stated as he inched closer. James had to smile, of course, Jeremy thought that he was subtle. “I thought that – until I know – I could start paying more attention to you.“

Then James felt a kiss on his cheek. He turned to face the other man. “oh?“ and gently cupped his cheek.

“If you don't mind.“ Well, James could cope with that.

Then Jeremy captured his lips. James smiled against them and deepened the kiss.

James could feel Jeremy's hands cradle the back of James' neck. When they parted James gave his shoulder a squeeze and smiled. “If you let me watch my Spitfire documentary.“

Jeremy pushed him away. So hard that James ended up on his back, laughing along with his friend, lover and partner. He reached for Jeremy's hand, tugging at it, so Jeremy ended up on top of him.

 

* * *

 

With the lack of the colouring book, and a mostly uneventful time shooting for _The Grand Tour_ , the hour had always been well used: in Dorset they walked hand in hand down a beautiful riverbed. They had little dates, always going out to different restaurants. They discovered the pubs – well one pub – in Witney and joked that even though they wouldn't let anyone into their house/pub that they would crush it.

Jeremy was still relaxed and managed to wind down, which showed when James let himself into Jeremy's flat, and saw him dancing to a random song on the radio. Jeremy didn't stop or tried to come up with an excuse.

Instead he pulled James to him, forcing him to dance too. At first James was stiff, feeling awkward and not at ease with his own body but soon he forgot himself. This was “only“ Jeremy, he could always be comfortable, and stupid near him. Nothing was embarrassing.

So he ended up close, too close, to Jeremy, swaying to the sound until they lost themselves in kisses. That only lasted so long until they forgot themselves in each other. James regretted not recognizing the song, but seeing Jeremy sleep soundly on his naked chest was more than enough.

  
  


* * *

 

On James' birthday Jeremy had come along to the dinner. As his partner of almost eight years he had become a part of the May family. And yet, Jeremy didn't want to give his present to James in front of them and apologised.

“I'll give you my gift at home“ Then the whole lot had hooted. James rolled his eyes …

Afterwards they had gone back to Holland Park because Jeremy stored the gift there. It made no difference to James. Holland Park was as much home to him as Hammersmith, and their house/pub in Witney.

“So you're warned, it's not sex,“ Jeremy joked as the key clicked.

“Sex toy?“ James went along, and winked at him.

“Spoilsport.“ Jeremy let James enter first. “Yes, with pink and purple stripes. I couldn't resist.“

“Lovely.“ James shook his head, knowing that a big and silly grin had formed on his lips.

Jeremy cleared his throat. James wasn't sure but he looked almost sheepish and shy. Then he rubbed the back of his neck. “Erm.“ _For god's sake!_ Jeremy was being sheepish and shy.

“Come on, Jez. I am impatient,“ James teased him, hoping this would bring him out of his shell. “Either mind-blowing sex, a fancy sex toy, or something better.“

Jeremy looked at him, still sheepish but a sly grin had formed on his face. “Okay.“ He walked past James, opened the cabinet, and took the gift out.

It was wrapped in standard birthday wrapping paper. The silly one with balloons and a thousand “Happy Birthday!“ wishes on it. James took it in his hand; the gift was flat, but bendy, one edge harder than the other three.

_Most likely a book._ James thought, paper-packed and thin, but tall. It had to be something personal. Otherwise Jeremy would have given it to him in front of their friends and family. Maybe a photo book. Jeremy had millions of photos, he still stored the most precious in his desk at work. Maybe Jeremy had taken the time to select his favourites, print them out, and carefully put them in the book. Possibly even with dates, and captions. James could imagine that. He would love that.

Carefully he let his fingers glide over the wrapping paper until he found a place where he could stick his finger in, and tore the paper off. Then he turned the book over, frowning slightly. It looked battered, and already used; like someone had carried it from place to place, always keeping it close.

James let his fingertips drift over the imprint _“Landscapes - Colouring Book for Adults.“_

_Hadn't that been the one Finlo had given to Jeremy?_ When James looked up he could see Jeremy shifting his weight from foot to foot. _God, had he ever looked so nervous before?_

James looked back at the object in his hands and let out a deep breath. It had to be Jeremy's colouring book. Now it was James'. He had given it to him, after keeping the contents away from him. And he was nervous because of it, so it hadn't been a silly little hobby like James had believed. James let out a little laugh and bit his lip.

“Wow.“

Then he heard Jeremy clear his throat. „You can … look inside, if you want.“

_If you want_ was Jeremy's polite way of saying _please! Please do! Please!_

James smiled, nodding and opened it. Should he flick through it quickly, so that he'd know what was inside, and then take a slow and detailed look at each of them? Or should he watch each slowly, letting it sink in without knowing what would come next?

Only a brief glimpse at the first page told him that he would go slow. He would cherish each of these carefully coloured pictures.

He could see a mountainside at night. The glacier radiating in white and light blue. The sky was dark with purple highlights, not exactly how a night sky worked in reality. But it looked beautiful and just like the thing Jeremy would do. The way he would see the world. Always more beautiful and more colourful than it was.

James took a closer look when he spotted a small tent at the side of the mountain. The angle was wrong and there were no hard black lines surrounding it. Jeremy must have put it there. In front of it were two black figures, one leaning against the other. James frowned. It couldn't be … _Could it be them?_

He turned to the next page. He was ready to spot another pair of tiny men. But the vividness of the colours told him that there would be no little men here. It was St. Paul's Church in France. James had never been there, but he was sure that Strasbourg wasn't in different shades of pink and purple. A big smile formed on is face.

Quickly he turned to the next page, Amsterdam: realistic and painted with the water colour pencils Jeremy had bought. On the street James could spot a tall man, holding hands with another who was wearing a flowery shirt.

James kept on. The next picture (Milan) had a clear floral print over it. Realistic colours, but only coloured where a flower from a Hawaiian shirt would be.

Then followed South Africa where an aeroplane with the registration number OCOK – James' light aircraft – was flying over the beautifully coloured area. In the next one, they were on the streets of New York, both wearing a “I ♥ NY“ shirt.

Every time Jeremy hadn't drawn them into the picture it was clearly James themed. Or it included an object from James' life.

James shook his head, feeling his eyes well up. No wonder he hadn't wanted James to see this while it was work in progress.

“Clarkson,“ James barely brought it out as he closed the book, having gone through each page.

It didn't take long until he could feel Jeremy's arm around him. Warm, protective, and comfortable. The same hands that had held him so often, through so many years. The same hands that had created those pictures. This was how Jeremy saw the world. He had worked his soul into this. How could James still forget that he had become part of Jeremy's soul? After all Jeremy was part of him.

“You didn't have to,“ James muttered into his shirt. He wasn't sure what he meant: He didn't have to draw him into each of these pictures. That he didn't have to show it to James? Or all of it?

“I know that,“ Jeremy replied and pressed a kiss on top of James' head. “But I wanted to.“

“Still.“ James pulled back, wanting to be able to look at Jeremy.

“Please.“ Jeremy winked at him. “When have you been able to stop me from doing something once I had my mind on it?“

James laughed – he didn't mind, he wasn't sure if he ever had - and captured his lips. It was a soft kiss, one that could have lasted for eternity.

“Happy Birthday, James.“

**Author's Note:**

> This story has a lot of hints towards [Where The Story Begins](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5754070/chapters/13258150) since I used its timeline to orientate myself. It is only fair because A corrected **all** of it, which - I can only imagine - must have been very painful.


End file.
